Don't Count Me Out
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: She was powerful. They couldn't touch her. They couldn't harm her. She wa invincible.


_**Written for the 'Color Competition' by Empress Empoleon, for the category 'red, negative' (write about a fierce battle or duel). **_

_**Warning, character death & torture. **_

….

So what if she wasn't the best fighter? So what if she wasn't the smartest of her class, or the brightest witch, or that her defense work could use a little practice? She was still _alive_, had made it this far. Didn't that count for something? There was death all around her, and yet, Lavender practically _danced _through the crowd of people. No one could touch her, no spell could make it anywhere near her. She was untouchable.

She grinned to herself as she ran and ran, deeper into the hallway, until there was no one around. She stopped to take a breath, believing that there was nothing that could catch _her _by surprise. Nothing that could take her over, or hurt her. She had been in school for seven years, she had been taught by _Harry Potter_. What was there to harm her? She was _powerful_, and they could do nothing to stop her.

Until the Stunner hit her straight in the chest, and she collapsed onto the cobblestone floor, her head and other bones making strange, almost sickening crunches. She was frozen, unable to move or blink. Her wand had rolled away from her hand; she could hear it clattering around on the floor, too far away for her to retrieve it.

"Leave her with me. I like pretty girls like her," said a dark voice from above her. She struggled to move, to be able to rotate her eyes to see the man speaking, but she was entirely immobile, stuck to this spot like a pinned butterfly. _Stupid_, she muttered to herself. _How could you be so stupid? You idiot. You're nothing special. _

She could hear another male speaking dimly, but she wasn't able to make out any distinct words, just cruel sounding laughter and the clunk of shoes walking away. She almost wanted to call out for them to come back, but her voice did not work, and the man leaving wouldn't have helped her anyway. He had _Stunned _her.

"Hello, little pretty," said the first voice, sounding very close, practically right in her ear; she tried to jump away, to distance herself from this voice, because it sounded cruel and evil and probably _not _good news. "It's nice to see you, though I'm sure you can't say the same."

She hated him. She hated this man who had her in such a vulnerable position. She wanted to punch him, wanted to see him _suffer _right now for making her weak and pathetic. Screw him.

"I like it when my boys and girls _fight. _It's always so much more fun when they struggle and fight back. The screams and the pleas, they're all so..._delicious_. And I am not entirely unfair. I will give you a chance to fight me. A chance to defend yourself and walk away victorious. How does that sound, pretty?" She couldn't speak, but she hoped he could just _feel _the hatred pouring out from him.

He released her from her frozen position on the floor, and she got up, looking into the eyes of a monster. The man had thick skin with many terrible scars all over it, and he leered at her with a misshapen face. His hair was long and matted, dirty dreadlocks that were _caked _in dirt. His teeth were all yellow and sharp, like a shark. She shuddered, moving away from him.

"Your wand, pretty girl," he snarled, tossing the thin stick of wood back to her. She caught it, fumbled, then held it aloft, staring him dead in the eyes. His bright yellow eyes that showed no mercy or small shred of humanity. Only animalistic hunger and a horribly sadistic nature.

In her anger and her struggle to not be sick at the sight of him, she had forgotten her wand all together. Instead, she had decided to do it the Muggle way, using her hands and her feet. Kicking and screaming like a girl. See if _he _liked it, being hurt and tortured. She moved to punch him, moved to strike him down, but by the time her fist connected with where his face was, he had already moved, sneering at her.

"Come on, pretty girl, you can do better than that, can't you? Don't you know how to fight, pretty girl? Haven't they taught you?" His dreadlocks shook as he laughed, and she felt her blood boiling. How _dare _he! "Here, let me teach the pretty girl how to fight."

He lunged in, mouth open as he tore into the flesh on her arm. She screamed, the pain unbearable, and collapsed to the floor. The blood pooled around her feet as he moved, eerily inhumanly fast, and leered down at her.

"_That's _how you fight, pretty girl. Like a _dog_, like a _mutt. _Like a..._wolf_." He smirked down at her, then let his heavy boot connect with her arm. She screamed in pain, but he only pressed down harder, and she could feel bone shattering. "Looks like you lose, pretty girl, and _I _win. Oh well, you won't be the first. It was nice with you, pretty girl. It will be nice to watch you _die _as well."

She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch her own life drain away. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to die.

_So much for powerful. _

"Good-bye, pretty girl,"


End file.
